


Storm

by betterrecieved



Series: Five Ways Nagron's First Time Might Have Gone [2]
Category: Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:23:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betterrecieved/pseuds/betterrecieved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP.  One of the ways Nagron's first time might have gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storm

Agron’s soft gaze is like rippling green surface of hidden grotto: Private, faceted, reserved only for Nasir. 

Angron’s waist, slender for his size,  grounding post for Nasir to lash his arms around against vicious winds of oncoming war. 

Agron’s shoulders, clad in hard armor, so wide that Agron is like firmly rooted tree towering over Nasir, filtering out harsh light of clashing metal.  Bending nearly in half to hear him speak, to kiss him, to look him closer in his face, Agron curves down his branches under force of Nasir’s small storm.

Agron’s feet like feet of bear.  Agron’s hands, long, wide, sentimental.  Agron’s arms, ridiculous in size, arousing in feel.  Agron’s cock, hooded and secretive, hard and unashamed.

All of the things of Agron’s that dwarf Nasir’s things.

In Vesuvius temple, sounds echo, love echoes, Nasir echoes lust from marble to marble.   Sighs, moans, exclamations of wonder.  Closest to screaming he has ever been in his life. 

Agron is so benign, despite his hulking form, allowing Nasir to push him, to pull him, to move him this way and that way.  Yet Agron, like any more powerful man, could turn demanding on him, bullying and grasping and what could Nasir do then?

And Agron is all of those things, and in all of the right ways:

“Lie back upon bedding and show me your body”, Agron growls, pushing Nasir down with palm of his big rough hand, pulling Nasir’s ankles over his wide shoulders in smooth motion.

“No, I will have you like this”, Agron decides aloud, and Nasir is the littler of two spoons pressed so close together that Nasir feels almost as if Agron is already inside him.

In Nasir’s hand, Agron’s cock had felt huge, and Nasir, thinking only with own his swollen cock, only now realizes what that size will mean for him soon.

Agron takes his chin, tilts Nasir’s head back for kiss.  Nasir is stiff as wooden board with dread.

“I will go slowly,” Agron breathes.  “I will take care of you.”

Then Agron’s fingers are slick, sure and mean, mild discomfort ascending into eye-rolling pleasure as Nasir’s prostate is stroked, soft, hard, pressed into, adoringly fingered.

Agron talks while he stretches him, half-smug, half leering:

“I have desired to fuck your sweet little ass since first I saw you standing in line among useless house slaves, stroking your pretty neck in dismay.”

“My cock is so hard, so hard Nasir, stroke it for me as I stroke inside of you”.

Nasir’s hands are big hands, but clumsy with confusion; Agron is _on_ him, everywhere at once.  Agron leans down and licks his nipple. 

“It is too much”, groans Nasir.  He has never been touched, though he had thought he had been touched by many - no, he has been _handled_ , positioned and pressed into convenient form.

Agron’s palms skim over not only his skin but spaces underneath that ache and strain in so many directions that Nasir is falling to pieces, strong arms pressing him aback to hard curve of Agron’s body only thing gathering him back into whole of himself.

Agron dips spit-wet finger into Nasir’s navel. Nibbles his earlobe, licks at his neck, clutches at skin over his heart. 

“I will take such good care of you," Agron repeats.  His eyes are unfocused, his breath hot against Nasir’s mouth.

And the head of Agron’s cock is knocking, knocking at the door and Nasir cannot he _cannot_ , not until Agron kisses his cheek soft and with sharp voice sharp voice commands, “ _Breathe!_ ”

Agron goes so slow that Nasir supposes he must be crying, would know for sure if he could feel his face or anything besides straining screaming stretch of widest part of Agron fitting inside.

“It is not too large, shh, I will make it fit,” says Agron.  Has Nasir spoken?  He must have, for Agron answers patiently.

And it fits, of course it fits, but it does not fit inside of Nasir so much as Nasir stretches to make room for it, and it is not fair, that his greatest love results in pain most unbearable.

Agron holds still and tells him this:

“This will be the worst time.  And still I will make it good for you.”

“You take my cock so well, do not cry.  I am here.”

Arms tighten around Nasir.  Impossibly, burn begins to lessen.  Nasir’s cries now only because Agron kisses him all over his face at every breathy sob; what he had thought to be pain was mostly panic, mostly fear of unknown.

Still, Agron does not move his hips, only strokes Nasir’s face and softly praises him:

“Nothing in world has felt so good as this.”

“You take me as if made for my cock.”

All around them footsteps echo.  Nasir tenses.  This is only for Agron, his tears only ever meant for Agron’s ears.

“It is only us,” Agron assures.  “There is only us.”

Then Agron moves, and Nasir no longer cares who hears, cares only for barely-there rocking of hips, for cock which subtly retreats and returns.

“Agron!” he calls.  Scratchy thin voice which echoes from walls is foreign to him. He wants to say how he loves, how he loves this man who takes such patient care: Agron’s forehead drips with sweat of restraint, he growls and snarls and bites his own lip bloody, while the rest of him is so gentle.

Nasir reaches orgasm with abruptness that surprises even Agron.  Pressure against his prostate is so firm that Nasir fears his bladder will burst before his balls empty. 

Then dam breaks and climax erupts from his untouched cock, arcing in air, splattering his belly and Agron’s arms.

Through half-lidded yes, Nasir watches Agron bring forearm to his mouth for taste. 

Then Nasir’s eyes drift lower and lower, and he dreams of a dull pain receding from his ass.  When he opens his eyes next Agron is leaning over him with morning meal in hand. 

But Nasir only pushes away Agron’s hands, yawning. “I am not hungry for _that_.”

And Agron’s eyes ripple down at him as he bends to force of Nasir’s gathering storm.


End file.
